


The Art of Courtship

by Brumeier



Series: Bite Sized Fic 2018 [18]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Affection, Courtship, First Kiss, Friendship, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 08:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13337505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: LJ Comment Fic for Book Titles prompt:Stargate Atlantis, Ronon Dex, The Art of War (Sun Tzu).In which Ronon has his own method of courting.





	The Art of Courtship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nagi_schwarz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/gifts).



_**What the ancients called a clever fighter is one who not only wins, but excels in winning with ease.** _

Ronon tossed two Marines, sending them crashing back down on the practice mat, and he hadn’t even broken a sweat yet. He looked forward to training days because he liked close fighting, liked putting his hands on his opponent and besting them out of sheer strength and endurance. Not that he'd ever part with his blaster, which required a different skill set, but to feel the shift of another man's muscles and know they wouldn't be able to best him was a pretty good feeling. 

Major Lorne sent three Marines this time and Ronon bared his teeth, set his feet. He could take whatever Lorne sent his way, and do so gladly. He had the strength of youth, the wisdom of experience, and the cunning of a man who had successfully dodged the Wraith for seven years. 

As he grappled with the men that were supposedly the best trained military the Earthers had to offer, Ronon could feel Lorne's eyes on him. He wondered if it would be too obvious to remove his shirt, although he absolutely flexed his muscles more than he needed. 

"Sure you don't have something more challenging?" he asked once the three Marines were on the mat, groaning and bruised. 

Lorne just smirked. 

*o*o*o*

_**He who is prudent and lies in wait for an enemy who is not, will be victorious.**_

Ronon had never gone running with Lorne – his preferred exercise partners were Sheppard and Cadman, never both at the same time – but that didn't mean he was unaware of the route Lorne preferred when he went running alone instead of with his team. 

It was easy, then, to meet up at a T-junction and make it look like a coincidence, two runners converging on the same path. Although if Lorne was at all surprised when Ronon suddenly appeared he did a very good job of hiding it. 

"Ronon." 

"Lorne." 

Those were the only words between them, but Ronon was fine with silences. They breathed, legs pumping, and Ronon didn't have to shorten his stride for Lorne to keep up. 

Afterwards, once they'd stretched and done their cool down exercises, Lorne tossed Ronon a bottled water. "Same time next week?" 

"Sure." 

*o*o*o*

_**Rewards for good service should not be deferred a single day.**_

It was late, and the infirmary lights had been dimmed. Marie was on duty, but she waved Ronon through with a tired smile. He meant to leave the gift on the table next to Lorne's bed and leave, but when he turned away Lorne said his name in hushed tones. 

"Ronon?" 

"Didn't mean to wake you," Ronon said, keeping his voice low in deference to the people in the other beds. 

"You didn't. Just can't sleep." 

Lorne's team had come to help extract Ronon's after an ambush. McKay had twisted his ankle – he was two beds over, snoring softly, even though he could've gone back to his quarters – and Lorne had taken a hit in his side. Beckett called it a through-and-through, because the bullet didn't hit any major organs. Ronon wasn't a big fan of the projectile weapons the Earthers and the Genii used. 

"What's this?" Lorne reached for the rolled piece of paper, grimacing just a little as he shifted on the bed. 

"Just a thank you." 

Ronon didn't have much. Years of being a Runner had taught him to travel light, so he wasn't in the habit of collecting things that didn't serve some kind of practical purpose. Like knives. What he did have were words, the kind he normally didn't share with others. He'd been a poet, once. 

Lorne unrolled the paper, eyes moving rapidly as he read the words Ronon had haltingly written in English with a little help from the shy linguist with the impossibly long last name. 

"You wrote this?" he asked when he was finished. "It's beautiful." 

"Thanks. Feel better." Ronon wasn't sure what else to say so he left. But the sincerely pleased expression on Lorne's face stayed with him all night. 

*o*o*o*

__  
**Foreknowledge cannot be gotten from ghosts and spirits, cannot be had by analogy, cannot be found out by calculation. It must be obtained from people, people who know the conditions of the enemy.**  


Ronon couldn't approach the members of Lorne's team, for the simple reason that they'd be foolish to give up information on their leader. They were a tight-knit group, like Ronon's own team. He had to approach someone who was friendly with the Major, but didn't have an over-abundance of loyalty to him. 

Chuck. 

Lorne was the eyes and ears of Atlantis, the man who kept the supply lines running smoothly, and Chuck was his right-hand man. It was Chuck who sent the requisitions and databursts to the SGC, Chuck who was almost as well-versed in the needs of Atlantis as Lorne himself. 

So Ronon cornered him in the Mess Hall after lunch. 

"Uh...is there something I can do for you?" Chuck seemed pretty nervous. Ronon tried not to loom over him quite so much. 

"Major Lorne paints," Ronon said. "What else does he like to do?" 

"I'm sorry?" 

No, Ronon had been right the first time. He went back to looming and Chuck pressed himself back into the wall. 

"What else does Major Lorne like to do?" 

"I...Why are you asking me? I don't...Cooking, I guess? He talks about that sometimes." 

Ronon stepped back and let Chuck make his escape. Cooking. He could work with that. 

*o*o*o*

_**Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him.** _

"You want to what?" Lorne asked, brow crinkled in confusion. 

"I want to learn to cook," Ronon repeated patiently. "Heard you're pretty good at it." 

"I don't know about that," Lorne said, but Ronon could tell he was being modest and didn't want to brag. It was a sound strategy, not revealing all his skills; the less people knew, the less leverage they had. 

Lorne made all the arrangements, got them some time in the kitchen after hours and access to supplies so he could teach Ronon how to make a complete meal, including dessert. Unsurprisingly, he was just as organized and methodical with cooking as he was with everything else. 

At least until Ronon 'accidentally' hit him in the face with some flour. 

Turned out Major Lorne, who was so buttoned down and did everything by the book, had a pretty good arm when it came to throwing pie crust dough. Ronon had seen him smile – he had a great one, what with the dimples and all – and seen him amused, but never before had he seen Lorne really laughing, tears running down his face and making tracks through the flour. 

Ronon's yearning increased to an almost painful degree. 

They never did cook that meal, because it took them hours to clean up the mess they'd made in the kitchen. 

*o*o*o*

_**Anger may in time change to gladness; vexation may be succeeded by content. But a kingdom that has once been destroyed can never come again into being; nor can the dead ever be brought back to life.** _

Lorne was officially on leave, though he didn't actually get out of the city. But he wasn't in any of the usual places and Ronon was having a hard time pinning him down. He wasn't on any of the balconies where he liked to paint, and he wasn't running either with his team or alone, and even though Ronon staked out Lorne's living quarters the man hadn't been there in days. 

Wherever he was in the city, Lorne had to be getting food supplies at the very least. So Ronon waited and watched, and finally got the break he was looking for when one of the kitchen Marines left carrying a basket full of food right after lunch. It was easy enough to track him, thanks to a feature on the transporter maps that McKay called 'redial'. 

Lorne was in an unused part of the city, one that had been water damaged but cleared of anything obviously dangerous. (It was the less-obvious dangers that concerned Ronon, and the Ancients had left plenty of those behind.) There was a bedroll on the floor next to the basket of food and small buckets of paint. 

Lorne was painting a huge mural on one of the damaged walls, and it took Ronon's breath away. 

"It's not finished," he said apologetically when he noticed Ronon standing there. The big brush in hand was covered in brown paint. "I wasn't ready to show it to you." 

Sateda. He was painting Sateda. The damaged portion of the wall was the city in ruins, but as the mural progressed the city was rebuilt, as beautiful and majestic as it was in Ronon's memories. 

"Why?" Ronon asked. He didn't care about the how because gathering information, even on a city that no longer existed, was one of Lorne's talents. 

Lorne looked ill at ease. Maybe even bashful. "I know nothing can ever bring Sateda, or the people you lost, back to you. I guess I just wanted you to know that it hasn't been forgotten. On Earth we like to build memorials, capture moments and memories to hold on to our pasts. I hope you don't mind." 

He sounded almost apologetic. 

"You did all this for me?" 

"It was the best way I knew to thank you for the beautiful poem you wrote." 

Lorne had turned things around on Ronon, had taken his overtures of courtship and amplified them, and Ronon couldn't wait anymore. 

"I'm gonna kiss you," he said. 

"Okay," Lorne replied, and there was a hungry expression on his face that lit a fire inside Ronon. 

He cupped Lorne's face in his hands, drinking in the sight of him for one brief second before touching their lips together. The kiss started out soft and tentative, but quickly turned heated and passionate. 

For the first time in a very long time, Ronon felt loved. And had love to give in return. 

_**The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.** _

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** All quotes are from _The Art of War_ by Sun Tzu. Or so Goodreads tells me. ::grins:


End file.
